


Round One

by chooken



Series: Game On [1]
Category: Westlife
Genre: Casual Sex, Dressing Room Sex, First Time, Flirting, Floor Sex, Fluff, Fucking, M/M, Making Out, Multiple Sex Positions, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Quickies, Smut, Snogging, Table Sex, Topping from the Bottom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-29
Updated: 2017-04-29
Packaged: 2018-10-25 07:51:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10759932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chooken/pseuds/chooken
Summary: All the flirting has led to this, and Nicky doesn't intend on letting Mark be the one in charge.





	Round One

**Author's Note:**

> Been stuck on about five different longfics for a couple of months, so here's some random porn as a palate cleanser so I can get back to doing some real work with angst and feels and a plot that's bigger than 'sex happens'.
> 
> Not that there's anything wrong with the happening of sex.

****It's not fucking _fair_.

Nicky wishes he could be more annoyed, if anything. There's something thoroughly agitating about the whole scenario. Mark's supposed to be the quiet one, the one who smiles and looks up shyly and follows along. It's one of the things Nicky first noticed, the careful look about him, like every action is a comet trailing miles of thought behind it.

Nicky's mam always said he needed to calm down a bit, himself. That he goes off half-cocked, gets enthusiastic and makes wild claims and then won't back down on them. He's the one with all the energy, racing from pole to pole before anyone else can get their shoes on. He's the one who demands things, who won't take no for an answer. Who charges on ahead, determined to grab everything with both hands.

This is not what he's usually like. He's not sure who he is, at the moment.

He's not entirely sure who Mark is, either.

Well, he's Mark, of course. Mark, who blushes and waffles on and whose train of thought can be derailed by a stiff breeze. He's creative, is what he is. Wispy and plodding in equal measure. It's infuriatingly sweet.

So the fact that Nicky's clinging to his shoulders, arching like a swooning tit, is completely fucking ridiculous.

Hand on his chin, firm and _holding_ , while a tongue paints a hot stripe up his jaw. Other hand down the back of his jeans, fingers digging in a way that is so thoroughly _definite_ it makes Nicky lose his breath. Makes him grab at shoulders in a way he wishes was about control and less about just trying to get a bloody grip on something.

“Shh.” Teeth nip a dark voice into his ear. The hand on his arse yanks, higher, lifting Nicky out of his jeans, though they've been drifting at falling off ever since Mark undid the buttons with one hand and hoisted him onto the table with the other. “Someone'll hear you.”

Nicky lets out a giggle that sounds like it has a crack running through it. Mark snickers. Yanks him in again. Nicky hooks his waist with both thighs, trying to open himself up, trying to _guide_ this thing, though he knows he's been clinging to the illusion of control for the better part of ten minutes, ever since Mark reached out and yanked him sideways into the dressing room.

He's not sure if he's surprised. Flirting's an understatement for what's been going on lately. He's not new at this himself, is sure Mark isn't either, though again that's Mark. He could have ten Olympic medals and an extra toe, and you'd never _know_ about it. This definitely isn't beginner's luck, regardless. This is...

“How long we got?” Mark murmurs. It's not a sexy thing to say, but even Nicky shivers at the rumble of that voice on his skin. His face hurts from snogging. He might be going crazy.

“Hour until we need to be anywhere.” Nicky's voice trembles. Fuck.

“A whole hour?” There's a smirk in Mark's voice. Double fuck. “I locked the door.”

“Oh. That's... that's good then,” Nicky manages lamely. Mark kisses him hard. Nicky isn't sure if he's kissing back, or just being devoured. A tongue darts into his mouth just before teeth tug at his lower lip. He whines into it. Feels his hips arch in.

“Lift.” Nicky does. His jeans are gone a minute later. He feels more than naked, suddenly. Feels exposed. Fumbles at Mark's fly, except his fingers are clumsy and he's left scrabbling awkwardly while Mark snorts and pushes in so close Nicky can't get a grasp anyway. Gives up to yank at Mark's t-shirt, which comes off a moment later.

It probably looks ridiculous, from the outside. Like two different halves of a domino. One bottomless, one topless, Nicky panting and wild-eyed, Mark licking his lips and pressing _forward_ , even though there's nowhere for Nicky to go back to, his spine straightened against the cold brick wall.

“I want you.” It croaks against his ear. Nicky puddles into it. Hand sliding up his thigh, squeezing as it reaches his hip. “Been wanting you for _weeks_.”

“You're not subtle about it,” Nicky manages. Mark laughs.

“Neither are you.” Nicky's head tips back. His hands slide at smooth shoulderblades that shift as Mark runs a biting kiss up his jaw. The hand on his thigh curves up to his ribs, thumb brushing his nipple. He stiffens into it, moaning. “Fuck, you're sexy.” Nicky feels his cheeks go hot. “You've been such a fucking tease, you know that?”

“Have I then?” He has. He really has. Didn't expect this, though. “Do erm... did you like that?” He winces. Dirty talk is apparently not his forte. Mark snorts a laugh into his throat, blessedly doesn't comment. Instead he grabs Nicky's hips, yanks him forward into a hard kiss, grinding into him which, fuck, isn't half uncomfortable with Mark's jeans between them.

Nicky grapples again, this time manages to get to the zip. Mark bats his hand away and does it for him, and then _oh_ , okay, no, that's definitely not a disappointment. Not that he expected it to be, but as far as Mark keeping his cards close to his chest goes, this is a definite royal flush.

“Fuck me,” he gasps. Realises he's said it after the words are already out. Mark swallows them up with a hard kiss. Then another. Nicky snatches a breath in between, loses it just as quickly when he feels a grip circle him, stroke _up_ and fuck, he may not keep another breath again, not when he's panting delirious into Mark's shoulder, hands clawing at a back that's slick with sweat, trying to find purchase on soft hips that are starting to cant a rhythm, rutting a hot pulse that has Nicky gulping Mark into another kiss just to stop himself crying out too loudly.

“You sure? We're due in wardrobe in like...” Mark glances at his watch over Nicky's shoulder. “Fifty minutes.”

“I...” He's not sure. Dancing for two hours on that sort of rawness feels completely ill-advised, especially considering the apparent size of the erm... situation. “Do you want to fuck me?”

“What do you think?” Nicky bites his lip, common sense warring with the aching throb that starts somewhere between his balls and his heart, pooling in the hot brand of fingers pressed to the small of his back. He shifts, feels like it's a good start when the fingers slide down the crack of his arse, spreading slightly as they...

Mark exhales against his ear just as Nicky yelps, arches, fingernails biting into Mark's spine. He's practically cuddled into Mark's chest, curled into an agonising hunch as the finger slips out, then does that agonising dip again, the one that just hints at spread while Mark mouths behind his ear, breath quickening.

“Oh, fuck yes.” Nicky's eyes tremble shut at the whispered gasp. It's almost reverent, and for a moment Nicky feels like he might have gotten some sort of control back, or at least made Mark lose a little as well. “Fuck you're tight. Jesus.” Shuddering moan. “If you don't want me to fuck you, you'd better say so quickly.” Dip again. Nicky mewls, catching lips that looked soft when he was watching a tongue trace them teasingly not an hour before in the van on the way to the venue. Now they're hard. Consuming.

“Lube,” Nicky says. Figure that's acquiescence enough. The grin Mark gives him is sinful.

Mark's jeans haven't fallen down yet. Thank god, because the lube's out of the pocket and in Mark's hand before Nicky can blink. He wonders how long Mark's been planning this. Wonders if Mark just carries around lube in his pockets as a general rule. Wonders how many other boys have appreciated that sort of preparedness, and feels a stubborn, unexpected rush of jealousy at the thought.

He's not one of those boys. He's _Nicky_ , and he's better than this.

“Chair,” he growls. Mark looks up in surprise. “Get in the chair.” He points. Basic dressing room chair, low back and arms, a bit tatty at the edges from the amount of arses that have probably sat in it over the years.

Mark raises an eyebrow. Nicky raises one back. Sees the look of surprise dissolve into a cheeky smile. Nicky nudges him away, missing the heat of him already, but sure if he doesn't take damn control of this situation he's going to spend the rest of his life following Mark around like a broken kite.

It's cruel how Mark looks when he sinks into the chair. Spills into it. Hand on his cock and moving slow, looking up with his bottom lip caught under his teeth in a way that is less coquettish than it is a challenge.

Nicky stares. Stares a bit more. Jeans wriggle down to catch around strong thighs, and god, that is just fucking _stunning._ Upsettingly so. Leaking at the head and hips jerking slightly into every stroke until Mark's head tips back with a contented sigh and Nicky is straddling him before he can second-guess himself, scrambling into his lap and yanking him into a kiss while Mark laughs into his mouth and knots a hand into his hair, the other hand switching to Nicky's shaft for a teasing stroke before spreading to let Nicky spread lube over it with hands that feel stupid and clumsy.

He squeals with laughter when he's yanked in suddenly, though it stops abruptly when he feels that finger on him again. Slow circles that press. Harder. And oh, fuck. Oh. Fuck.

“Mark...” he chokes. One in. Two. They don't hurt. Just spread and... and...

“Nicky,” Mark rasps. Nicky cries out. Pushes back. Deep. Fuck. Oh. Press, curl and oh Jesus fucking _christ_ that's...

“Ah...” His eyes are closed. Rocking so hard the chair's making concerning creaking noises, his knees squashed between the low arms and Mark's thighs, spreading slightly to give him room to nudge up, over and over, fucking the air between them, thick and throbbing, rubbing against him in a maddening, rolling slide that makes Nicky want to rut them to completion before Mark's even inside him.

He wants Mark inside him.

“Please...” He's up, straddling on tensed thighs. Feels the fingers draw out. The condom roll on, magicked from Mark's other pocket.

Dancing is going to be really uncomfortable tonight. That's future-Nicky's problem.

“Oh...” His head tips back at the spike of Mark pushing up. Blunt pressure guided against him. The sharp prickling bloom of everything tensing against the intrusion while his hips come down and Mark goes up, meeting somewhere in the middle, tracing the line between agony and the sobbing rush of fullness.

He clings. Claws. Feels Mark make a helpless groan that Nicky scoops up with a hard kiss, glad that at least he can say, for a moment, that Mark was falling apart.

The kiss breaks once he's seated. They look down at the same time, both panting. Mark's cheeks are red, his eyes dark and bright with want. Foreheads pressed together while Mark's hands grab a cheek each, pulling Nicky open to help with the friction and god _damn_ it.

“You okay?” It trembles in his ear. He almost laughs out loud. Lifts himself instead. Relishes the broken squawk when he slams back down with a triumphant flood of pain and a shout of pleasure. Feels Mark twitch, claw at his shirt. Cling to him while Nicky lifts and drops again, starting a rolling rhythm that feels like taking back control, while Mark grunts whimpers into his mouth, kissing him hard, every breath sounding like he's trying to pull it from a vacuum.

He wants to say something ridiculous. Take it, baby. Fucking like that, don't you. How does _that_ feel. He can't be bothered. It feels cheap and, meaningless quickie this may be, Nicky Byrne is _not_ cheap.

“Fuck...” Mark's feet are scrabbling at the carpet, his hips juddering into every thrust. “Nicky...”

“Fuck me,” Nicky interrupts. Mark groans out loud. Nicky would smirk if he could, but there's a hand wrapped around his cock suddenly, moving fast and slick with leftover lube, and he can barely find a synapse that isn't focused on the twin feeling of spread and stroke, the fullness rushing out, a hot swell that might drag him under if it wasn't for the fingers digging too hard into the small of his back.

“I'm... oh fuck.” Mark's eyes are fluttering. Squeezing shut before blinking wide again. Nicky goes harder, feels the man under him tense. “Just...”

“Gonna come?” Nicky goads. Mark glares back.

Then Nicky yelps as Mark stands, suddenly, and turns over, pinning Nicky to the chair, Mark on his knees while Nicky's legs flail in the air for a moment before grasping over strong shoulders, Mark's thrusts suddenly purposeful, controlled. Driving deep while Nicky cries out and heaves, grabbing the arms of the chair, his arse hung over the edge of the seat while Mark _takes_ him.

This is _not_ fucking _fair._

He growls, shoves the chair backwards, yelping as he hits the floor and Mark's hands flutter to try to catch them. Uses the moment of confusion and the fact that Mark's knees are still trapped by the jeans to flip them over, pin Mark onto his back, and sit back down, fucking onto a slick shaft, listening to Mark cry out in surprise.

“Stay,” Nicky orders. He's pinned both of Mark's wrists to the carpet at some point. The chair is overturned a few feet away and Mark doesn't get to _win_ this. Or at least Nicky isn't going to lose. Because that's not who he is.

Mark bucks, tries to roll them again. Nicky snarls, sees eyes widen, darken. Mark is fucking _liking_ this, the kinky bastard. Hips slam up into him, and Nicky shoves down, lets a wrist go and feels the hand wrap around him, stroking hard, like at least if Nicky's going to make Mark come, Mark's going to take him with him.

He's taken off-guard when Mark sits up and kisses him. Softly. Gently. Nicky stutters, hips slowing while his arms drape around shoulders that have dropped to allow strong arms to wrap around his waist.

He whimpers. Feels Mark breathe into him.

Melts.

A hand slips between them again. He braces, sure suddenly that this is a trick. That he's been taken off guard, about to be flipped again, so that Mark can...

His legs wrap back around Mark's waist. It's a bit awkward, here on the floor, Mark cross-legged and not really able to do anything other than sit there, shift into him while they move together, slow at first and gaining pace.

He's light-headed. Mark is making soft moans. The kinds of noises Nicky is already sure will haunt his dreams.

Their foreheads lean together. Nicky shudders, feels Mark's wrist twist. Sucks into him, tasting him while they hold each other tight, the swell of his own orgasm matching the rhythm of the harsh gasps breathing against his mouth.

“That's it,” Mark mumbles. When Nicky looks up his mouth is hanging open, bottom lip glistening. He kisses it, feels the other hand grab his arse to move the angle and oh jesus fucking god right there and...

This was really not how he saw the evening going.

“Mark...!” It's a warning. It's too fucking late. Wrapped in the hot embrace of the man beneath him, scrambling to hold himself together while the tension peaks and he loses himself. Into Mark. Hot and overwhelmed and Mark holding him to the ground, biting into his shoulder until he realises that Mark's going too, a shivering sweat slicking between them and into his t-shirt while he barks out his release.

They sit there for a long minute. Mark's trembling. Nicky might fall off if it wasn't for the hand still on his arse.

“Jesus Christ,” Mark laughs finally. Nicky giggles back. “What was that about?”

“It was a draw,” he mumbles. Mark snorts.

“I didn't realise we were competing.”

“Shows what you know,” Nicky retorts. And there's Mark again, laughing in confusion while Nicky glares defiantly into his shoulder. “You okay?”

“I'm fine. More worried about you.” They're slipping apart. Nicky whimpers as Mark softens out of him. “That was intense.”

“Do we have to do the show? I sort of want a sleep.”

“We do,” Mark chuckles. Nicky closes his eyes. “In about...” His hand leaves Nicky's arse. “Twenty minutes.” It drops again. Nicky moans. “I did ask.”

“I know.” Nicky kisses his neck. “Figured I'd take it while I could. Didn't know if I'd get a second chance.”

“What, to win a competition I didn't know we were having?”

“Mm.” Mark's hand is soothing up his spine now, making long sweeps that make the idea of a sleep even more appealing. “S'nice.”

“Yeah,” Mark says. There's a long pause. “If you... I mean, if you're feeling up to it you can always come to my room later? Or whenever. If you want.” The next pause feels longer, though it's probably only a breath. Nicky opens his eyes, sees stubble and a throat that's swallowing nervously.

“Oh.” He looks up. “Yeah. I guess.”

“Only if you want to,” Mark says quickly. “I'm not trying to like...”

“I'd like that,” Nicky says. A smile swells into Mark's cheeks.

“Me too.” He pats Nicky's flank. “Up, then. We've got to get our hair done.” He kisses Nicky's cheek. It almost feels unsure. Nicky grins shyly back. “So, what was this competition then?” he asks, as they help each other to their feet. Nicky wobbles for a second before finding a way to stand that doesn't feel like he's still being fucked raw.

“Not exactly a competition,” Nicky admits. “Just I didn't think it was fair.”

“What?”

“How fucking sexy you were being,” he admits. Mark laughs out loud, a surprised bark.

“Well, you definitely won that one,” he replies. Their hands catch, a quick squeeze. Nicky feels himself melt again, has to steel himself when Mark pulls away to roll off the condom. “Still, suppose there's always time.”

“For what?”

Mark pulls up his jeans.  Winks.

“Round two?”

 


End file.
